I
THERE is a feeling, warm and true
As that of seraphims above,
It sheds its balm like Hermon’s dew;
It is a tender mother’s love.
II
Bright is the pure incipient flame,
That warms the breast of ardent youth,
And dear the passion nought can tame,
Inspired by beauty, virtue, truth.
III
Sweet is the sound of friendship’s voice,
That bids each pulse to rapture move;
That bids each barren scene rejoice,
But sweeter far a mother’s love.
IV
Fond is the feeling, that inspires
With filial love, the tender child,
With gratitude his bosom fires
To her, who on his boyhood smil’d.
V
But placid, pure, and undefiled;
(By nature is the fabric wove)
By nature giv’n the savage wild,
Or christian; is a mother’s love.